


Darkest Before The Dawn

by Muftiday



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, description of war, everyones alive because i said so, if you feel any more tags are necessary please let me know!!!, its not gory but its definitely talked about, no specific route, specifically about mental illness/disorders, written before the dlc release so no dlc content here folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muftiday/pseuds/Muftiday
Summary: Mercedes does not open the orphanage immediately; however much she wants to.---A fic exploring the Mercedes and Jeritza ending where she opens an orphanage with her mother and reunites with Jeritza. Currently only the first chapter is completed, which explores Mercedes' experience after the war. Second chapter will focus on Jeritza adjusting to life with Mercedes.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Mercedes von Martritz, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Jeritza von Hrym & Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Darkest Before The Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been,,,, a long time coming. ive been writing this on and off for months and finally decided to post what i have finished as the first chapter!! 
> 
> as i mentioned in the description, this fic is... dark. if theres any other tags or warnings you think i should add, please let me know!!!

Mercedes does not open the orphanage immediately; however much she wants to. 

There is ever so much to be done; treaties to be written, agreements to be made, new territory lines to draw, what with the unification of Fodlan and all. Not a single person is without a job to do. Mercedes, for her part, is swamped with patients to heal and monitor. 

_ (The thick scent of blood settles into her clothes, her hair, her skin. She scrubs and scrubs until her hands are raw; but still, she sees the red staining them. Still, she hears the dying pleas of patients she couldn’t save. Still, she sees their hands reaching out to her. Still, she feels their souls cling to her, begging for a salvation she cannot give. _

_ She throws out her wardrobe. Cuts her hair. Scrubs her skin until it is bleeding and stinging. And even then, she doesn't feel clean.) _

She doesn’t quite know how long it takes for the flow of injured to lessen, the scheduled check ups to run dry, or condolences to no longer be needed. It is only when she checks her schedule and finds it completely empty, she realizes that it has been several months since the war ended. She has no more work to do. It should be a relief, she knows, but instead she feels anxious and aimless. Surely, there must be someone bleeding? A patient she had missed? A check up to be done?

She searches for guidance, seeking out Edelgard in her office to ask for a job, only for her to look up from a pile of many, many papers and blink at her. 

“You have served admirably, Mercedes.” She says, voice careful and clipped like one would expect from an Emperor. It is not the voice Mercedes remembers. “You may continue to be stationed here, if you so wish. But you may find yourself… Lacking, for work. Your skills have healed all they can here.” 

“I… Don’t understand.” Mercedes replies, voice small and husky. She realizes this is the first time she has spoken in many weeks.

Edelgard pauses. “You are relieved of duty, Mercedes.” She says delicately, her eyes holding a quiet sympathy. “Perhaps you should return home. Your mother must be waiting.” 

Oh, of course. Her mother. Mercedes thanks Edelgard, and leaves, feeling nothing. Which is strange, she thinks. She remembers writing to her mother, all sorrow and pain on pages, longing, wanting to be back home with her. The feelings are there. But only in the past, it seems. Try as she might to grasp for them, take hold and feel them, she can't quite seem to. Not even guilt comes to her; though she knows it should.

Regardless, she knows Edelgard is right. Her mother will be awaiting her return. 

And so, she leaves.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The professor bids Mercedes farewell when she goes, tucking a homemade bouquet of fresh lavender into her travel bag, along with some sweet rolls for the trip. There are dark circles under their eyes, and they look as though they haven’t seen a hairbrush, let alone a bed in many days; but they smile at her with a genuine happiness.

_ (Something that Mercedes still finds surprising, after not so much as a glimmer of emotion throughout their teaching days.) _

Mercedes insists they didn’t need to take the time to see them off. They’re so busy, after all, being so instrumental in the development of the new Fodlan, they really needn’t have bothered with such a little thing. But Byleth simply smiles, and takes her hands in a shockingly soft grip.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” They say, with such tenderness and pride, that Mercedes has no choice but to believe them. She readies herself for a goodbye, adjusting her travel bag when Byleth holds a hand up to stop her with a sly smile. “And neither could someone else.”

“Mercie!”

Mercedes feels Annette before she fully realises what’s going on, a blur of orange, white, and blue crashing into her with such force she almost topples over entirely. Surprise quickly gives way to joy, however; a laugh bubbling up uninvited from Mercedes’ throat as she spins Annette around in her arms. Annette squeals, and for a blessed minute there is nothing else in the world but them and their laughter. It feels as though it has been years since they last met, and it very may well be what with Mercedes shaky grasp on time towards the end of the war. 

But Annette is here. Warm, giggling, light, and alive. And for the first time, Mercedes truly feels like the war is over.

Eventually the two part enough to look at each other, faces flushed with laughter, only to collapse into giggles once again when they meet eyes. Mercedes feels as though she’s back in the academy again as she struggles against laughter. 

“Annie!” Mercedes exclaims. “What are you _doing_ here?” 

“You didn’t think I’d let you go travelling to Faerghus without me, did you?” Annette teases, still clinging to Mercedes tightly. “The professor let me know!” 

Mercedes glances at Byleth curiously, who looks somewhere between smug and incredibly amused at the display. “Think of it as a parting gift.” They say simply. Behind them is Felix, carrying two travel bags and trying his best to look disgruntled with the situation instead of fond. He is failing _spectacularly._

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind if Felix joins us!” Annette quickly asks, a light flush dusting her cheeks. “We were thinking of going to the Officers Academy together and seeing if they needed any help, or, well, _I_ was thinking, and--”

“She told me if I left without her I would never hear the finished version of the song she wrote for me.” Felix deadpans.

_“Felix!”_ Annette hisses, finally whipping her head around from Mercedes’ gaze to glare at him. 

“That sounds like her.” Mercedes chuckles, watching fondly as the two begin to argue. Though, _argue_ is a strong word for it. There’s no real venom behind their words, and Mercedes can easily see the softness in Annette’s eyes when she looks at Felix. Memories of flushed conversations about the man over tea and biscuits, flustered stolen glances in halls, lingering touches during healing… Frankly, the two had been obscenely in love. 

And it appears the two have finally made some sort of progress, Mercedes muses as she watches them trade easy touches and fond looks. She gives Annette a sly eyebrow lift that says they _will_ be speaking on this later. 

“Well,” Byleth interrupts politely, clearly smothering a giggle. “I won’t keep you any longer.” 

“Oh! Yes!” Annette exclaims, entirely forgetting about Felix and jumping to give Byleth an enthusiastic hug, which they take gladly. “Thank you so much for everything, Professor!” 

It takes a little while for proper farewells (Annette cries, though she assures everyone they’re happy tears when Felix gives Byleth a threatening glare. And though Mercedes can’t be sure, she’s fairly certain Byleth’s eyes are glistening a little more than usual.) but soon enough they’re waving at a quickly disappearing Byleth as they embark on the roads out of Enbarr. 

Annette chatters at Mercedes side, insisting they _must_ catch up on everything that the other has missed. Felix stalks behind them, silently watching the roads for dangers, occasionally interjecting Annette’s stories with a dry comment. Dirt crunches under their feet and birds sing in the fresh air. 

And Mercedes is, for the moment, _happy._

* * *

There is much time to catch up while they travel across the Empire to Faerghus. Amid deep forests of lush greenery, acrid deserts, and craggy mountains, Mercedes listens to Annette explain her own version of the end of the war. She speaks only briefly of the battles, skirting around things like healing and deaths; instead focusing on the brighter side. Of her finding Felix ready to leave for a life of wandering and selling his sword to whoever would buy. Felix insists he only agreed because he knew Annette would never leave him alone, but by the softness in his eyes when he looks at her, Mercedes knows otherwise. She teases as much, and chuckles as the pair flush bright red, but fail to object. 

They are adorable, she tells them. 

And they are. As they set up camp for the night, Felix polishing his sword and Annette singing happily to herself as she tends to the dinner’s stew, he hums along under his breath with an ease that tells he has memorized this particular song. When they sit to eat, their shoulders brush and press against each other with a natural kind of intimacy. Felix hardly even protests when Annette insists she will take first watch with Mercedes. It is such a change from the surly, argumentative Felix of Mercedes’ memories she struggles not to giggle throughout the whole thing.

_“So…”_ Mercedes begins when Felix has retreated to his bed roll long enough that he is likely not listening anymore. “You two seem _close.”_

“Ahhhhhh, I _know!_ ” Annette squeals into her hands, bouncing in her seat excitedly. Mercedes laughs and lets her clutch at her arm in joy. “When I found him about to leave, I just-- I was so _scared_ he was going to go without me! So I just-- _I just--_ ” She makes an outwards flourish with her hands. “Just said everything! It was so embarrassing…!” 

“But effective.” Mercedes chuckles. 

“Yeah…” Annette sighs, leaning against her wistfully. “I wasn’t sure he would… You know, feel the same. But he does! And I do. And we’re… T--Together.” She flushes, hiding her face in Mercedes’ shawl. “I’m really happy with him, Mercedes.”

“You better be.” Mercedes replies, stroking Annette’s back. “If he ever hurts you, I’ll castrate him with his own sword.”

_ “Mercie!” _

“I’m just being honest!” She laughs, while Annette pouts. For a long while, she simply enjoys the familiar weight and warmth of Annette leaning against her. How many months had it been since they had last done this? Years, even? The fire crackles, embers rising into the crisp night air. Mercedes feels Annette stiffen against her, and knows she wants to say something. She waits politely, and eventually, Annette shifts and looks up at her.

“But how have you been, Mercie?” She asks, eyes wide and… Hesitant? Mercedes can’t imagine why. She pauses, trying to think of something to say, something equally as heartwarming as her news on Felix to share. But all that comes to mind is battle, blood staining her cleric's robes from white to a deep wine red that never washed out. Agonized screams as she scrambles to heal. Words to spells slurred in haste as she tries, tries to heal as fast as her patients bleed, but never fast _enough, never, never--_

“Oh, you know.” Mercedes grits her teeth behind a smile. “Same old, same old!”

But Annette knows her too well to fall for the lie. Mercedes knows this; knows it in the way her mouth thins into a line, her freckles scrunch up with her nose, and her eyes squint in judgement. It’s so achingly familiar it makes something in Mercedes _ache._

“You know…” Annette starts, clearly choosing her words carefully. “The professor… They didn’t just ask me to come with you because they thought you wanted company. They were… _We’re all_ worried about you.” 

“Whatever for?” Mercedes asks, feigning ignorance, jaw set in a painful clench. “Annie, I’m _fine!”_

Mercedes can feel her defenses slipping at Annette’s open, concerned gaze. Her fingers are pressing into her arm, body warm against her, and she looks so worried Mercedes just wants to collapse into her and come up for air. But she can’t. Annette must have her own problems, even if she’s downplaying them. Mercedes can’t intrude, can’t burden her with this… This _nonsense._ The war is over. There’s no reason she should be feeling like this; lost, numb, haunted. She should be happy. She should be--

_“Mercie.”_ Annette says, voice small and tears brimming her eyes. 

And Mercedes breaks.

She only knows she’s started crying when Annette reaches up to wipe tears away, and suddenly everything is just too much. The fire too hot, the air too cold, her clothes itching and scratching against her skin, hair suffocating her, and she can’t even _breathe_ under the weight of it all. Her lungs scream for air, and she can’t seem to find a medium between gasping shallow breaths that fail to bring any respite, and great shuddering gasps that bring too much. She tries to fight it; to apologize, to stop _this_ , whatever this is, but Annette’s cradling her face and shushing her.

“It’s okay, Mercie.” She whispers, looking as though she might start to cry herself. “I’m here.”

Annete holds her together as she splinters and breaks in her arms. She soothes quiet comforts into her hair, circling small motions against her back, and waits as Mercedes struggles to even cry.

It’s unclear how long it takes for Mercedes’ breath to steady, chest aching and burning with the effort; but judging by the dim smoldering embers of the fire, it has been a while. Annette shows no signs of tiring, however. Her hold is steady as ever around Mercedes’ trembling frame. She seems to notice when Mercedes settles somewhat, drawing back to meet her eyes with tear streaked cheeks.

“Oh, Mercie.” She whispers, voice desperate and stricken. “Please talk to me.”

And Mercedes does. It all seems to tumble out of her, rushing and flowing like toxic waters from her lips as soon as her mouth opens. She speaks of blood, of ghosts, of knights, and mothers, and being lost. She speaks until her voice is hoarse and throat raw, words barely audible within exhaustion and misery. She speaks until there is nothing left to say; and even then, she only stops when Annette grips her arm gently.

“Mercie,” Annette says. “You… You don’t have to be okay, you know? All of us, we’re all… _Hurting._ Me. Felix. The professor.” Mercedes tries to say something to that, but all that comes out is a husky croak. “What I mean is… It’s okay to not be okay, Mercie.”

“But—“ Mercedes starts, any number of arguments ready on her lips. What kind of healer is worse off than her patients, she thinks. What sort of support can she claim to give, when she herself is so… _Broken?_

But Annette is having none of it.

“No buts!” She says, gently bonking a softly curled fist atop Mercedes’ head. “You know… You could always come along with me and Felix—“

“No,” Mercedes interrupts, “no, no, I couldn’t. You’re so happy together, Annie, I couldn’t come between that.”

“You deserve to be happy _too_ , Mercie!” Annette argues, voice rising and falling just as quickly when Mercedes can’t repress a flinch.

“I… I can’t.” Mercedes insists. “My mother, she’s waiting for me.”

“Mercie,” Annette continues, voice hushed but stubborn as ever, “You can take a break. Goddess knows you deserve it.”

“No,” Mercedes says, fingers tightening around Annette’s hands. The pressure is back in her chest. “No, Annie, I— I need something, I need to be—be—“ 

She doesn’t even really know what she needs. A distraction? Someone to help? A cause to give her meaning, a purpose, a goal? Regardless, the panic is rising in her chest again, constricting around her lungs, pressing down on her, and Annette seems to notice.

“Okay,” she says, breathing deeply in a way that Mercedes can’t help but try to match, calming her pulse. “What were you thinking?”

The words dry up in Mercedes’ throat; what _had_ she been thinking? The thought of returning to a healing job, blood caking under her fingernails, bright white burning her eyes… No. She won’t— _can’t_ — go back to that. But what else was there? It’d been so long since she’d done anything else; a lifetime, it felt like. She struggles to think of a time before it all. Before the death.

Annette seems to understand this, even as Mercedes remains silent and grasping for words. “Well, if you asked _me…_ ” She offers gently. “You always used to talk about opening an orphanage, remember? For kids in need?”

“I… I did.” Mercedes wheezes. She had, now she thinks about it. The memories are hazy, clouded by anxiety and time, but they’re there. Conversations over tea and sweets, giggling and fantasizing about life outside of the academy. 

“I think…” Annette whispers. “I think that would be wonderful. So many kids won’t have parents now, because of… Because of everything. They need someone like you.” The word war is skirted around, avoided, like a raw injury. Too inflamed to be touched on. Mercedes is thankful for it.

“Y—Yeah.” She stammers. Her breath is coming back to her more readily now, pulse calming and settling against her throat. 

Mercedes thinks of a young boy; blonde, small, and crying. Tears streak his face as he clings to Mercede’s skirt, unwilling to let go as a man yells behind him. She remembers having to be dragged away, kicking and screaming in her mother's arms as she sobs and screams for her brother. Emile watches, eyes red, and a man’s hand tight around his shoulder as he trembles.

Emile had _needed_ her. But she couldn’t be there for him. She hopes she can never make that mistake again.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
Mercedes suspects Felix had heard her… _Episode_ that night. 

She would be very surprised if he _hadn’t_ , considering she hadn’t exactly been quiet about it. He says nothing, but shares his rations of the sweet rolls the Professor had gifted them with her, claiming he has no taste for them.

Mercedes knows this is a lie. Lysithea had bragged as much, claiming to have finally converted the man to the light some time ago. But she sees the way Annette smiles widely at him and the tense set to his shoulders; so she smiles and takes it. Even if it sits like lead in her stomach. 

Annette is much more open about her kindness; chattering away at Mercedes’ side constantly as they travel, allowing barely a moment alone with her thoughts. It is appreciated; Mercedes much prefers the idle sound of Annette’s voice over the memories of battle in forests just like the ones they walk through. 

Annette is trying to support her. She is doing a wonderful job; but there are nights Mercedes awakens to catch the image of Annette, curled up against Felix’s side as she sobs softly into him, his arms around her. The quiet cries she tries her best to silence follow Mercedes into her nightmares.

She does not mention them, but she suspects Annette knows by the way Mercedes offers to do most of the work, preparing meals and cleaning gear before she has a chance to take to it herself. It becomes something of an unsaid agreement between them; they do not mention the nightmares, or tears, or the panic. But they are there through it all. They support each other.

Mercedes has never been so thankful to know Annette than those days.

* * *

They reach the church on the third week of travelling.

It looks different than Mercedes remembers; though it has been some time and one overhaul of religion since she was there, so she supposes that makes sense. Once pristine and carefully cleaned walls are now cracked and caked with dirt, tile stones shattered and overgrown with plants in places, stained glass faded and missing in places… It is a shadow of its former self. Much like the church of Seiros itself, Mercedes muses as she steps closer, trailing a hand against the cool stone. 

Regardless, she recalls many happy memories here. Playing hide and seek among the pews with the nuns, tag with the priests, make believe with the goddess statues. She can hear the hymns and prayers in her head as clearly as the first day she learnt them. Behind her, Annette and Felix mill around silently, unsure whether to offer condolences or not. 

“I don’t think she’s here.” Mercedes hears Felix mutter.

_“Shh!”_ Annette shushes him sharply, bounding up to Mercedes’ side. “Let’s go in! I’ve always wanted to see where you grew up, Mercie!” 

“It’s not much, Annie.” Mercedes chuckles, gesturing to the chipped walls and grimy floors. “But it is home.” There’s a pang in her chest seeing it so run down. Even for all her support of Edelgard’s cause against the church, Mercedes didn’t wish _this._ She’d known the worshipers almost as well as her mother; plenty of them had been honest and good people. Edelgard had always assured her that she was against the church, not the religion, but…

Well, seeing her former home like this made her wonder how many of her subjects shared her feelings.

She watches Annette prance inside excitedly, gushing to Felix about the admittedly still impressive stained glass window panes, even when part of them sits shattered on the grass. Mercedes wanders down the aisle, taking the same steps she recalls pacing as a child. The pews lie collapsed in places. Entirely gone in others. But through all the weeds, dirt, and age, she can still see the remains of the almost mystical memories she holds here. 

Mercedes only realizes halfway up the aisle that there’s someone sat in the front most row of pews; head bowed and hands clasped in prayer. They must be focused, as they show no sign of noticing either Mercedes quiet steps or Annette’s excited chatter. 

“Oh, excuse me!” Mercedes calls out softly, hardening her steps as to alert the stranger .“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you knew anything about the people who lived here? I’m looking for a woman…” She hears Felix unsheathe his sword slightly, clearly on alert for any sudden movements from the stranger. Once, Mercedes would have chided him for such assumptions.

With a war now under her belt, she finds herself already calling the familiar tingle of dark magic to her fingertips. 

The figure shifts minutely. Their head tilts, revealing their aged stature and white streaked hair. Mercedes watches closely as they draw themselves upwards, dusting their skirts, so focused on catching the glint of a dagger, the glow of magic, or something, that she doesn’t even truly take in their face until…

“Mercedes..?”

It is the voice that brings her out of her instincts. The same voice that she was been aching to remember in full for months, years, even. Floating through her memories and letters, ethereal and comforting like the ghost of a loved one; cherished, but never quite reachable. It is older than she remembers. Quieter, shakier, less trusting. Mercedes is sure she would sound equally as much. 

She wastes no time. Before she can truly register what is happening, Mercedes is leaping forward to close the distance between the two, magic leeching from her hands and all combat knowledge gone from her mind. All she can think of is how not close she is to the woman right now. Behind her, Felix tries to spring to action. Distantly she hears Annette halt him. She is not sure what she says, and she couldn't care less at the moment. She sinks into the woman’s embrace as easily as she would her own bed. It feels equally as comforting, as right, and Mercedes never wants to be anywhere else again. She feels herself shaking, tears running down her face as the woman holds her.

“Mercedes.” The woman whispers, voice quivering, reverent and loving as the prayers she was speaking before. “Oh, _Mercedes.”_

And for the first time in ten years, Mercedes hugs her mother. 

  
  


* * *

It takes Mercedes some time to pry herself from her mother’s embrace and collect herself enough to explain the situation. Behind her, Annette is barely keeping Felix from acting on his instincts and slashing Mercedes mother into ribbons. 

“Annie, Felix...” Mercedes begins, voice thick with tears. “Meet my mother.” 

Annette is more than happy to break the ice. She’s ecstatic to finally meet Mercedes’ mother, already filling her in on all the years the two had spent together at the academy. _So_ excited, in fact, she doesn’t let her get a word in.

_“Annette.”_ Felix interrupts. “Let the woman speak.”

“Oh! Right, right, of course, haha!” Annette laughs sheepishly, backing up. “Um, what’s your name?”

“Madonna,” Mercedes’ mother answers softly, wiping tears from her eyes delicately. “My name is Madonna. Mercedes has written about you so much; it’s wonderful to meet you.” She clasps her hands in Annette’s. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done for my daughter. It helped _so_ much knowing she had such a terrific friend.”

_“Mother...”_ Mercedes chides, but without any real feeling behind it. After all, she’s right. Annette had helped her so much; newly separated from her only real family, the pain of leaving Emile still fresh, an overbearing adoptive father breathing down her neck... Annette had been one of the few things offering comfort in those times. Even now, it remained true.

Annette seems torn between hugging either Madonna or Mercedes, settling for flicking her misty eyed gaze between the two of them. “Oh—oh, you _guys..!_ Mercedes’ the terrific friend!” 

Felix, seeming to realize that this exchange will continue until the end of time, intervenes. “We should set up camp here.” He says dryly. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

Madonna cannot be dissuaded from helping, despite Annette and Felix’s insistence otherwise. The four manage to set up camp just as sundown begins to color the horizon. Even Felix is forced to be impressed by the ease with which Madonna had helped. Mercedes had simply smiled and said, “Well, I had to get it from _somewhere,_ right?”. 

Over a fire pit dinner of roasted potatoes, dried meat, and the last sweet roll Mercedes had been saving for her mother, they share stories of the past ten years. Madonna speaks of the church being harassed and eventually ransacked by Empire supporters. Rocks through windows, threatening mobs... It makes Mercedes sick to her stomach, though Madonna assures her she does not blame her or her friends for it. The others had left, she tells; driven off by the aggression. 

“Then why did you stay?” Felix asks, never one to beat around the bush.

“Well,” Madonna smiles at Mercedes, “Where else would my daughter know to look for me?”

Mercedes, already stuck to her mothers side like some kind of leech, squeezes her arm around hers and tries not to start crying again. 

Annette fills her in on their side, omitting many of the more gruesome details, for which Mercedes gives her a thankful quirk of her lips when Madonna isn’t looking. She focuses much more on the brighter things; her and Mercedes’ friendship, amusing anecdotes with classmates, cooking, things like that. Annette’s flair for dramatics and sheer enthusiasm has everyone giggling. Well, except for Felix; but he does fail miserably at smothering a smile, so it’s _virtually_ the same thing. 

It is all hideously domestic. And Mercedes wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s late when Mercedes finally finds a quiet moment alone with her mother to tell her about Emile. Eventually, even Felix has proven helpless against Madonna’s kind offer of first watch with Mercedes. Him and Annette were settled in their bedrolls. In the dim candlelit, heads bent close together, and voices hushed, Mercedes speaks of familiar eyes, deep voices, now grown men.

_ (She does not speak of the emptiness of those eyes, the detached coldness of the voice, or cool steel blades pressed against necks by men wearing her brothers body. Her mother does not need to know these things; at least, not yet.) _

Her mother clutches at Mercede’s shoulders, weight leaning against her like she may faint without support. Brown eyes are misted with tears. It takes her several tries to speak, voice breaking with emotion into mere croaks and wheezes the first few times.

“Was he—“ She begins, voice quiet and quivering. “Was he… Happy?”

Mercedes hesitates. She wants to say yes, but… All she hears is the clang of metal, shrieks of agony, and the impending hoof beats alongside black as night armor. Her mother looks up at her, eyes wide and tears brimming over. Fingers clutch at her desperately. 

And she can’t find it in herself to be honest.

She supposes she says yes. Weaves some easy lie about him being the picture of joy. She can’t be sure, because everything seems to blur together as her mother collapses into her chest, wracked with sobs, and Mercedes is stroking her back.

Everything beyond that is lost to Mercedes. Lost to clashing metal and a dark, gleeful laugh that goes on, and on, and _on._

  
  


* * *

  
  


The church no longer feels like home to Mercedes. 

She discovers this soon after their second day staying there. While there is certainly nostalgia underneath the grime and age, it’s more of a dull ache compared to the sharp pain she expected. There is no joy fluttering in her chest. She does not feel safer, or as though she has been waiting ten years to arrive here. She simply feels sad. Sad to see her home reduced to rubble and weeds. Sad to know those who’d lived with her had been terrorized into leaving.

Sad to feel none of the happiness she so _desperately_ wanted to.

Regardless, they cannot stay there. Annette and Felix are already having hushed conversations about continuing on to the officers academy when they think Mercedes is unaware. They have yet to say anything, polite as they are, but Mercedes knows it will not be long until Felix cannot be delayed by Annette any longer. As such, she takes it on herself to speak to her mother about it.

“Mother.” She begins haltingly while cleaning out the fire pit. “Now... Now that the war is over, I was thinking that I’d quite like to open an orphanage. For children who have lost their parents in the fighting. Or those who just need a home. You... You are welcome to join me.” Mercedes is unsure why she’s so nervous. She knows her mother; she will be over the moon about the idea. Sure, whether she will accompany Mercedes is uncertain, but that is no reason for her to continue digging at the ashes of the fire long after she was finished clearing them. 

She waits for a reply. The silence hangs in the air like a Pegasus flier waiting to strike, and soon it becomes too much for Mercedes to bare, and she turns to see her mothers face. 

She is crying.

“Oh.” She gasps, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh, Mercedes. That... That sounds _wonderful.”_

She does not need to say who she is thinking of. Mercedes is thinking of him too. They embrace once again, Madonna’s grip trembling around her shoulders and face buried in her hair. And if Mercedes tries hard enough, she can almost feel a third pair of arms, broad and muscled with combat wrapped around them too.

  
  


* * *

  
  


In retrospect, she really should have thought of the specifics earlier.

It begins when Mercedes tells Annette the good news of her mother agreeing to start the orphanage with her. While the two are busy celebrating in a giggling mess, Felix interrupts with a reality check.

“And just where are you going to start this orphanage?” He asks without glancing from sharpening his sword.

“Felix!” Annette chides, pouting with hands on her hips. “Why do you always have to be such a _killjoy?”_

“No, no, he’s right.” Mercedes says. All of a sudden it feels as though a rock has dropped in her stomach. “I... Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Oh, there’ll be somewhere!” Annette assures her, shooting Felix a venomous glare. “Maybe Edelgard would find you a place! You are a decorated general, after all.”

“Maybe.” Mercedes mutters. Her heart isn’t in it; she feels awful. Not only had she set her heart on this, but she’d promised her mother. What was she to say? That she hadn’t prepared enough? She couldn’t afford a place? The very thought of her mother’s disappointed expression and empty assurances makes her sick. 

Felix, evidently guilted enough by the frankly _murderous_ looks Annette is giving him, sighs and looks up from his sword. “Look, write to some of the others. I’m sure any of them would be happy to give you a building. Hell, all the nobles estates confiscated during the war, there’s bound to be _something.”_

It’s not a bad idea. A great one, even. And so, after the group have moved from the ruined church to a nearby town’s inn (Annette had _insisted,_ saying it was unthinkable for a woman Madonna’s age to be sleeping on the ground.) Mercedes does just that. Everyone she can think of, she writes to. Lorenz, Ignatz, Ingrid, Bernadetta... She asks them all if they know of any estates up for the taking she could possibly have.

She can only hope there is something.

  
  


* * *

  
  


To Mercedes’ surprise, _Sylvain_ is the one who comes through.

Though, perhaps she shouldn’t be so taken aback. After all, she knows Sylvain has always been possibly a little _too_ sensitive to others feelings at times, despite his charming facade. But with his views on, as he put it, “crest babies”, Mercedes had not expected him to be so open to the idea of an orphanage. But to the contrary, he seems _ecstatic_ by his letter. 

As she reads to her companions, the Gautier family had, until recently, owned a summer home in Faerghus. It had fallen to Sylvain as the eldest heir, and he had intended to give it up as per the new policies on nobility. However, he was more than happy to donate it to Mercedes for the public service of an orphanage. In fact, he was offering to take care of all the paperwork himself! He simply wanted Mercedes to meet him there. 

“This Sylvain…” Madonna muses over tea. “That’s the… Promiscuous one, correct?” Her expression is kind (As it usually is) but her tone is icy. Annette snorts into her own cup of tea beside her. 

“Yes.” Felix confirms, patting Annette’s back as she splutters. “He is insufferable with women, but he is trustworthy. If he says the home is yours, then it’s yours.”

Mercedes blinks at Felix with muted surprise, and he shrugs back at her. She’d always known he and Sylvain were close, but this was the first she’d ever heard him compliment him so openly. Though, she supposes the war puts things in perspective. Things like stubbornness and teasing became so much less important, Mercedes thinks, as Felix rubs soothing circles against Annette’s back as she recovers. 

“I trust him too.” Mercedes assures her mother, reaching to squeeze her hand over the table. 

Madonna hums into her tea thoughtfully, but seems satisfied with the… _Strange_ reviews on Sylvain’s character. “Well, so long as he isn’t still angling for any ‘crest babies’ with you.” She shrugs. 

All three of them spit their tea at that.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It takes some time to reach the Gautier house; or, Mercedes supposes, now _ex-_ Gautier.

Annette insists upon travelling with Mercedes and Madonna, claiming it’s on the way to the officers academy anyhow. Felix mutters something about checking up on Sylvain as he follows along. The two are close as always, and Mercedes cannot help but suppress a giggle at the sight of it. 

_ (Mercedes knows that their travels with them are, in fact, a rather large detour from the officers academy. However, she also knows the way they sleep, light and fitfully. Murmurs of terror and pleadings leaking from their lips to unseen enemies and helpless allies. Frantic waking with eyes searching for the others slumbering figures, and then, only then, letting themselves breathe.  _

_ She knows the way Annette and Felix sometimes hold each other’s arms with a white knuckled grip, as though if they let go for even a second, the other will be lost to them forever. How they skim fingertips over one another’s scars with eyes of regret. _

_ She knows how sometimes, when Annette hugs her, she clings to her for just a little longer than is normal, eyes glazed over with memories of the past, fingernails digging into Mercedes skin like she needs to know she’s real. _

_ Because she knows these things, she says nothing. She simply lets them come along.) _

The travel is quiet; almost _too_ quiet. Mercedes finds herself on edge the entire time, seeing enemies in shadows and twitches in the rustle of a tree branch. Felix and Annette are much the same, though Felix is by far the worst of them all. The number of slashed trees they leave in their wake is truly saddening.

Madonna does not seem to know what to make of this change in Mercedes. Many times, when she thinks Mercedes is not looking, she looks at her with eyes searching and pleading, as though she is searching for the daughter she left ten years ago.

Mercedes does not know where she is either. 

Regardless, the travel is uneventful. Within weeks they are travelling up a worn dirt path lined with now overgrown, but clearly once carefully pruned and maintained trees. A man made grove encircles the property, what looks like a three story mansion with lavish trimmings and frankly _extravagant_ design. If it were not for the shocking red head of hair betraying Sylvain’s presence, Mercedes would think it was much too fancy to be offered to her.

Sylvain, however, does not leave much time for Mercedes to mull on this.

“Felix!” He exclaims, a mere blur as he leaps forward to sweep Felix in his arms tightly, swinging him around like a rag doll. “Mercedes didn’t write about _you_ being here!” Over Felix’s shoulder, he nods to the others. “Or you, Annette!”

“You have ten seconds before I remove your arms from your body with extreme prejudice.” Felix grits through his teeth.

“Ten seconds? Wow, you must be in a good mood!” Sylvain laughs, squeezing his friend for good measure. “Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?”

_“Don’t push it.”_ Felix hisses. Though his tone is acidic as always, he doesn’t struggle under Sylvain’s hold, and Mercedes catches the fondness in his eyes. He’s missed him. Truthfully, Mercedes has as well, and she doesn’t doubt Annette feels the same. 

Sylvain relishes his ten seconds, releasing Felix as he reaches for his sword. Grinning, he moves on to Mercedes and Annette, clasping them in a much less animated, but no less tight hug. She lets herself melt into it, relaxing to the thrum of Sylvain’s heartbeat. She can feel him do the same. 

“Good to see you well.” He murmurs into their ears, voice soft and serious. Mercedes squeezes his back and feels Annette do the same. 

“You too, Sylvie.” Mercedes whispers back. 

She feels Sylvain sigh against her, slumping into her as though with her words, all the stress and tenseness has leeched from him. He stays there for a moment. But only a moment. Soon enough he is drawing back, sunny grin plastered back on his face and heading for Madonna.

Oh, dear.

“Why, _Mercedes!_ ” Sylvain exclaims, sweeping down in an exaggerated bow. “I didn’t know you had a sister!” 

“Sylvain.” Felix admonishes. Sylvain knows Madonna is Mercedes’ mother. They all _know_ he knows that. However, they also know Sylvain. So this was unavoidable, really.

“Oh, you flatter me.” Madonna simpers, letting Sylvain kiss her hand in greeting with a fitting giggle. The look she gives the others over his hunched figure is teasing and full of mirth, however. Mercedes is glad she warned her beforehand to expect this.

“I do not!” Sylvain gasps with mock offence, clutching at his chest as though the very idea has wounded him physically. “I speak only truth! You are very—“

“The _property_ , Sylvain?” Mercedes asks, swooping in to loop her arm around Sylvain’s in what seems like an entirely affectionate gesture. But her grip is like a vice. Sylvain bites back a wince, turning his charming smile to her.

“What, no time for introductions?” He asks slyly. Mercedes tights her grip further, and he squeaks audibly. Madonna smothers a snort underneath a polite cough. “Alright, _alright,_ let’s look at the place, then!” 

He walks them to the door, arm still locked in Mercedes’ (She’s not likely to trust him on his own for at least ten minutes.) and up close the building looks... Older. It’s clear from the wear and tear at the edges that the place has not been maintained in a while; the entirety of the war, Mercedes suspects. Moss nibbles away in dark corners, spiders making their homes across trimmings and doorways, and cracks run down seams like veins. Once vivid silvers and golds have been bleached by the sun to a dull echo of themselves. The place towers over Mercedes; three floors, she counts by the rows of windows. 

The door creaks as Sylvain opens it, a croaking moan echoing through the countless rooms of the house. Sunlight streams through, and brings light to the thick layer of dust the group are disturbing. The floor boards protest the sudden appearance of guests, not used to being trod upon; save by rats, judging from the tiny indents in the dust. The wallpaper is faded and peeling at the corners. It’s impossible to say what colour it once was; now simply a washed out grey. Furniture is completely covered with dust, cobwebs strung between almost every surface, thick and white. 

“Goddess, Sylvain, you could’ve warned us it was like _this...”_ Felix mutters behind Mercedes.

_“Shh!”_ Annette hisses to him, seeming to have elbowed him in the side, judging by the wince of pain he gives out. 

Mercedes walks down the hallway, peering through to the rooms. A lounging area, couches faded and windows so dirty they hardly let through any daylight at all. A kitchen, bedrooms, a bathroom that looks as though it should be condemned... She takes the stairs up to the second floor and finds it much the same, though the third floor is in a considerably worse state of affairs. Some of the windows are cracked or missing entirely, bedrooms filled with leaves and debris from outside. 

She comes back down to see the others milling about the entry way. Madonna is attempting to wipe a window clean enough to see out of, though not seeming to get very far, while Sylvain is watching and acting as... Moral support? Annette is dusting the nearby table and has recruited Felix to help, though they’re using her shawl to do so. Felix is muttering something angrily to Annette, who is attempting to quiet him when they see her heading back down. She bats Felix to stop what he’s doing, and he glares at her.

“Mercie!” Annette exclaims, shaky grin on her face. “So, uh, I know how it looks, and it’s... Certainly a fixer upper—“

“Disaster zone, more like.” Felix mumbles.

“But!” Annette bulldozes over him cheerfully. “If anyone can make this a home, it’s you!”

“Sylvain.” Mercedes says. He spins around, easy grin on his face, but she knows him well enough to know that it is covering for anxiety. He looks as though he’s getting ready to make his excuses, but Mercedes continues before he can get a word out.

“I love it.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


It is, of course, a bit of an undertaking getting the place ready.

Sylvain tries to make his excuses about kingdom business needing his presence immediately, but Felix threatening him with a broom manages to get him to agree to stay and help. Madonna is equally as ecstatic as Mercedes, the two eagerly rolling up their sleeves and tucking in their skirts to set about dusting the place. Felix watches in muted horror. Eventually, he’s given the job of exterminating the spiders running amok, which he takes quite a shine to. Multiple times Mercedes walks in on a deadly battle between the two factions, Felix swearing to eliminate all their kind as spider bites swell on his hands.

It’s _very_ amusing.

Annette is tasked with sorting through the old furniture, saving what’s still mostly intact and usable with a good polishing, and hacking the rest up into firewood. Her startling skill with an axe sends a mix of emotions through Mercedes. She settles on pride.

Sylvain heads into town and barters for all the furniture and help he can charm his way into; which, as it turns out, is quite a lot. The group have no shortage of pristine furniture to take their pick from, though Sylvain himself takes charge of most of the decorating.

“You’re all so busy, let me take care of this!” He insists with his ever present grin. “You’ll have the best looking orphanage in all of Fodlan by the time I’m done!” 

And to everyone’s surprise, he delivers. Though, this tends to be something of a trend with Sylvain. His eye for the particulars of color and placement is immaculate, and Mercedes catches him lending help to the many hired hands to lay new wallpaper or polish fittings quite a number of times. Not even Felix can find a point to complain about when Sylvain presents a new fully completed room to them. Quietly, Mercedes wonders if the red head might have missed his calling as an interior designer. 

It takes time. More than any of them had expected, truly, but eventually they have an orphanage that is, frankly, more than what Mercedes could have ever dreamed of. Not a speck of dust marks the entire place. Every inch has been polished and primed for small hands to explore. Almost every piece of furniture has been replaced with the best Sylvain can find, sleek, comfortable, and rounded at the corners for excitable children. Windows are filled with sparkling new panels of glass, the kitchen has been practically gutted and refilled, bathrooms are now suitable for human use, and the bedrooms are ready for new arrivals. 

It’s enough to make Annette cry.

“I’m—I’m sorry!” She blubbers through tears, clinging to Felix’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I’m the—the one crying, it’s y—your orphanage—“ 

“No, Annie.” Mercedes assures her, eyes prickling with unshed tears. “It’s _all_ of ours.”

Annette positively _wails_ at that, burying her face in Felix’s back. He scoffs, but it’s weak, and Mercedes catches the shine of his own eyes as he turns to comfort his not yet wife.

(A hurdle to jump another time, Mercedes thinks.)

She averts her gaze respectfully to meet her mothers, seated and sobbing silently. It takes Madonna several tries to get out something close to words, mouth opening and closing in muted sobs, before she finally croaks out;

“Oh, Mercedes. It’s _wonderful.”_

She doesn’t have to mention Emile. Mercedes knows. Madonna looks up at her with wet eyes, and Mercedes just _knows_. Sylvain catches her eye from his place lurking by the entrance, and he nods her over. Wiping her eyes, she heads towards him.

Sylvain pulls Mercedes aside, leaning close to speak in a hushed tone. 

“Mercedes, if... If I sent you some children, who, ah...” He averts his eyes, hands fidgeting. “Were crestless, would you—“

“Sylvain.” Mercedes interrupts harshly. “I am _not_ opening an orphanage to house your illegitimate heirs—“ She’d never thought Sylvain to be that sort of man. But, well, mistakes happen...

“No!” Sylvain exclaims. He looks positively _stricken._ “No, _Goddess,_ no! Not mine, just... You know, kids like... Like Miklan, who were disowned, or neglected for having no crest, would you—“

“Of course.” He cuts off when Mercedes reaches a hand to steady his shoulder softly. “Of _course_ I will, Sylvain. Every child is welcome here.” 

Sylvain’s face crumples into something both unspeakably sad and thankful. He tries to keep himself together, but the tears leak from his eyes unbidden, teeth gritting, breath hitching. “Thank you.” He gasps, head dipping to rest in the crook of Mercedes neck. _“Thank you.”_

They stay like that for some time. Sylvain suppressing silent sobs into Mercedes shoulder as she holds him, gentle and free of judgement. She understands how important this is to him. Memories of Miklan, inky black corruption bubbling and creeping over his body as he scrabbles in desperation to scrape it off are stark in her mind. His overwhelming rage and hatred at the very sight of Sylvain. The venom he spat of crests, their father, inheritance, Godesses. It had been harrowing for all of them; but downright traumatising for Sylvain.

Never again, Mercedes thinks. No more unwanted crest babies. No more Miklans. 

Not while her orphanage is open for business.

  
  



End file.
